


Recon Coffee

by flitterflutterfly



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shop, Explicit Language, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-21
Updated: 2012-10-21
Packaged: 2017-11-16 18:55:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/542739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flitterflutterfly/pseuds/flitterflutterfly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein Rudy really is the fruity barista, Ray is the haggard pastry chef, and Brad is the f**got writing a novel on a laptop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Recon Coffee

**Author's Note:**

> _Yeah, it’s obvious I was wrong about invading Iraq for NAMBLA. Turns out we’re actually here to setup a forward Starbucks. And Christ, look, we’ve already inserted our fruity barista, thank you very much. Now, all we need is like some really shitty fucking music playing, like Norah Jones; a couple of high school girls getting super fat on iced lattes; a homeless guy trying to scam a key to the restroom; and some faggot writing his novel on a laptop._ – Ray Person

Recon Coffee wasn’t the first café Brad had tried out in the city. No, Starbucks had the dubious honor of being the first and while Brad had been fine with the corporate logo for a few months, he’d grown tired of the usual gaggling crowd that flocked the chain and gone out in search of a place where he could honestly hunker down and write.

And yeah, he knew what it said that he was the kind of author who found it easier to write with a shot of espresso than at his own home, but Brad was beyond caring what others thought of him at this point in his life.

But so far, after five instances of being hit on by too-young college girls and seven more near misses of coffee falling way too close to either his lap or his laptop… well Brad was just about to give up and deal with Starbucks' at least relatively competent, if not relaxing, atmosphere.

So when he stopped in front of Recon Coffee at ass-o’clock in the morning holding his laptop bag, well he didn’t expect much good. He sure as hell didn’t expect Ray Person.

Neither, he thought, did Ray expect him.

But, to be fair, he didn’t meet Ray immediately. No, his first experience with Recon Coffee was with Rudy, the barista, who took Brad’s order with a serene smile that led him to thinking the guy was high, at the very least, and would mess it up drastically. So he was pleasantly surprised when, a few minutes later, Rudy called him up to the counter from the corner table he’d secured for himself and handed him his coffee exactly as he’d requested it be, not too hot, just a hint of honey, and an extra shot of espresso.

Brad was ever more surprised when Rudy proceeded to hand him a napkin with a raisin muffin. Brad took it automatically, but he frowned as he did so. “I didn’t order this.”

“Nah, man,” Rudy smiled at him. “New customers always get a free muffin, Nate’s orders. That’s Ray’s specialty, there.”

From that, Brad could assume Nate, whoever he was, was the owner of the shop and Ray the pastry chef of the lovely collection behind the glass that Brad had contemplated but ended up skipping over.

He wondered, briefly, why it was Recon Coffee instead of Café, but he didn’t ask. Instead he thanked Rudy and took the coffee and muffin back to his table.

The coffee lasted him through fifteen pages and he’d almost forgotten about the muffin when he felt a presence to his left. He looked over and up to see the man he’d later know as Ray standing over him, hands on his hips.

“Can I help you?” Brad asked, his hands stilling on his keyboard.

“What’s the matter?” the man asked. His hair was as dark as his eyes and he wore an apron that proudly held RECON COFFEE splayed across the chest. “You don’t like raisins?”

Brad blinked, momentarily confused, and then he glanced over at the muffin left untouched by the empty coffee. “I don’t mind them,” he said nonchalantly.

The man frowned and crossed his arms. “Well then why aren’t you eating it?” His eyes caught Brad’s in a disapproving glare. “That’s my specialty, right there. The finest muffin in the city and you’d just let it dry out on your table like a fucker, wouldn’t you?”

“You Ray?” Brad asked, because his head was reeling. He wondered what Nate would say to his employee calling a customer a fucker.

“I sure am,” Ray stated. “So you better eat your fucking muffin, homes.”

Brad’s lips twitched of their own accord. He picked the muffin up and bit into it generously. The taste seemed to explode in his mouth, but Brad had served as a marine for years before he’d been discharged and he kept his face carefully neutral as he swallowed and licked his lips.

Ray’s eyes seemed to follow his tongue and Brad allowed him a moment of satisfaction before he shrugged. “It’s okay.”

Which was a big fucking lie and as soon as Ray was out of sight Brad would be devouring the rest of this muffin of God, but he couldn’t resist riling this man up a bit.

Ray’s mouth dropped open. “Okay? It’s not just  _okay_ , that’s my gran’s very own recipe you just consumed. Jesus fucking Christ will be reborn again just so he can taste that muffin. So don’t fucking say it’s just okay.”

“Hey,” Brad rolled his eyes. “I’m not saying it’s bad. I’m just saying you need more than a fuck ton of butter and raisins to wow me.”

“Oh you’re asking for it!” Ray jabbed a finger in Brad’s direction. “You think you can just waltz in here and tell me that I’m not God’s gift to men, well you’ve got another thing coming, homes. Just you wait.”

And with that, Ray turned on his heels and stalked back towards where Rudy was watching them both with too much amusement. Ray waved a hand to the barista that quite clearly said he can deal with the fucking customer and disappeared back into the kitchen.

That sealed it for Brad. He started coming to Recon Coffee regularly and soon enough that corner table had become  _his_  table. Rudy stopped asking Brad what he wanted and started just making Brad’s coffee the minute he walked into the door.

And every day, Ray would appear from the back kitchen with a new pastry in his hands. One day it would be an everything bagel, another it would be a red velvet cupcake, and another it would be a cheese puff. Ray seemed to make whatever he felt like, Brad never saw the same exact things behind the glass. That was, except for his raisin muffins.

Which, Brad actually really wanted another of, but he resisted if only because that would mean Ray would win and he wasn’t quite ready to call defeat.

So Ray continued to hand him pastries and Brad continued to eat them and every day he liked them more and more, but every day he shrugged at Ray and asked if he could do any better.

About a month after Brad had first walked into Recon, he realized that he was nearly finished with his novel. He sat back in his chair and stared at his screen. It was… it was weird to think he’d come so far.

Writing had been his way of getting his anger out after he’d been discharged, a sort of fuck you to the corps that had discriminated against him because he happened to like men instead of women.

“You look fucking sick, homes,” Ray said.

Brad glanced over and then to the slice of cake in Ray’s hands. He closed the laptop, grabbed the plate, and took a bite. Like usual, the taste seemed to spread through his mouth like a kiss, a sort of orgasm-inducing wonder that left Brad breathless every time.

He wondered if kissing Ray would be like that.

Brad cleared his throat and continued to look at the cake. “It’s good, Ray,” he said. “Thanks.”

There was silence. Brad thought that maybe the entire shop was watching them. He knew they’d become daily entertainment to the other regulars—the doctor in the corner and the man Ray called Poke and the college kid named Walt.

Ray breathed out and Brad looked up, raising an eyebrow. “What?” he asked before Ray could say any of what his expressive eyes were already telling. “Can’t take a fucking compliment now? Don’t worry, I still wouldn’t feed this shit to my fucking dog. I’m just commenting on your meager improvement.”

And just like that the suddenly tense atmosphere was broken and Ray went back to glaring and ranting and Brad went back to teasing.

But something had changed.

His agent—the one he’d gotten to market his collection of short stories the year prior—was delighted with his novel’s draft and had proceeded to send it off to various publishers that she said were always looking for a touching war story.

Brad wanted to tell her that it wasn’t touching, that it was the hard truth. That it was his truth. But he knew she would never understand and he’d brought some of it on himself by adding a dark-haired love interest for the gay officer struggling with the war in Iraq and his own conflicting emotions.

He was in Recon Coffee when he got the call that said that his novel had been accepted for print. And Brad knew there was a lot more to be done, editing and gallery proofs and marketing.

But for the moment he allowed himself a wide smile. He closed his laptop in the middle of the who-knows-what re-read of the novel and put it in his bag. When Ray came, only a couple minutes later, Brad nodded to the empty chair across from him.

Ray sat slowly, staring at him. “Someone got laid last night,” he stated.

Brad snorted. “I haven’t gotten laid since they corps caught me and booted me out of Iraq,” he said in a rare moment of honesty. He ignored the widening of Ray’s eyes and instead grabbed one of the cookies from the plate and ate it in two bites. “Snickerdoodle,” he said. “How’d you know that was my favorite?”

“Are you fucking high?” Ray asked, but a smile had started to spread over his face.

“Haven’t done that since high school,” Brad said. “I don’t particularly care to repeat the experience, but fuck you’re right I should get laid.”

“I’m right?” Ray blinked. “Well of course I am. I’m Ray fucking Person. I am gospel truth, I am.”

Brad laughed, still giddy off his success and the wonder in Ray’s eyes. “So how about it then, Father Ray? Do you fuck as well as you bake?”

“Considering you think my baking is mediocre, I should tell you I fuck infinitely better,” Ray said. “But, in the interest of honesty, I truthfully fuck about just as well.”

And considering how well Ray actually baked, that meant he fucked like a sex god. Brad grinned. “You’ll just have to prove it.”

And Ray grinned back. “Oh, homes, you are fucking in for it.”

“I certainly hope so,” Brad said. He stood, slinging his bag over his shoulder, and, after a moment, grabbed a napkin as scribbled his phone number and below it, his address. “Drop by after your shift, you piece of shit. I’ll even feed you.”

“Food and fucking,” Ray sighed. “You know just how to get a man's heart, don’t you?”

Brad snagged another cookie and winked. “Apparently, so do you.”

And with that, he sauntered out of Recon Coffee.


End file.
